I think I loved you last nightnot like a girlish fantasy or a wet dream.It was something weirder and scarierand dumber and far more obscene.

Last night you were still in love with somebody else,and once again I was not the main characterof my own life's dreary play. That's why it was so surprisingthat I even pressed close to you -moreso, that you did not pull away.

You laughed and you blushed when I told you thatyou were my favourite person on earthand I in turn was like a pigeon, cooing and preening.We spoke lyrics ripped straight from the radio:pretty and affectionate, comforting and bold,devoid of any real substance or meaning.

You asked me why anybody would even love you.You knew already, but I rattled off some list whichI don't remember. Except for the fact that I was sure I wouldalways understand the answer better than you do.

Then just like that the scene changed,and suddenly you were on the ground, eyes closed tight,to block out the sun and the world.She was singing a song to you, a song whosewords I also knew;but I would never sing them,or indeed, ever be sung to.

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